


Birthday Cake and Revelations

by Proskenion



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Aziraphale and Crowley are two idiots who needs a lot of help to confess they're in love, Birthday Party, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humour, Kissing, M/M, very very slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 20:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proskenion/pseuds/Proskenion
Summary: It's been months since the Incident, and life has been nothing but sweet and quiet for Freya, Crowley and Aziraphale. Freya is now dying to make them confess their love for each other, but they need more than not-so-subtle innuendos to eventually fall into each other's arms.Part 2 of Something Stronger.(You don't really need to have read the first part to read this. All you have to know is that Freya is my OFC and she became friends with Crowley and Aziraphale in my first fic)





	Birthday Cake and Revelations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My Sweet Angelic Demon <3](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+Sweet+Angelic+Demon+%26lt%3B3).

> Hello lovelies ! I'm back :D 
> 
> So, this is a sequel at my Good Omens sequel, lol. I really hope you'll like it, I had so much fun writing it. Also this is purely self-indulgent and I'm absolutely not ashamed about it hehehe ;) 
> 
> Enjoy ! <3

‘If she had accepted Oaks’ proposal at the beginning, she would have spared her and many people a lot of trouble,’ Freya said, strolling through Aziraphale’s shop in search for a book. 

‘Yes, and we wouldn’t have had any novel to read,’ Aziraphale replied from the back of the shop. 

‘Obviously, I’m just saying.’

Freya picked a copy of Little Women on a shelf – second edition, with a note from the editor – and joined Aziraphale. ‘Actually,’ she declared, ‘if I were her, I would have stayed unmarried and lived with both Oaks and Boldwood.’ 

‘Quite unconventional,’ Aziraphale commented without raising his eyes from an old copy of Montaigne’s Essays he had just acquired. 

‘Bathsheba _is_ unconventional. That’s definitely how I would have chosen to end the book, were I the author.’ Freya said quite dramatically.

‘Yes, but you aren’t.’

‘Unfortunately,’ she sighed, even more dramatic. 

Aziraphale glanced at her above his small reading spectacles with a crooked smile. Freya winked, and as Aziraphale went back to his book, she slowly came to stand behind him, putting both her hands on the back of his chair. ‘Or maybe Oaks and Boldwood should have gotten married,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Together, I mean.’

‘Now you’re just being silly.’

‘Why ? _That_ would have been revolutionary.’

‘Probably too revolutionary for the time. It was illegal, if you remember. Besides, they don’t love each other.’

‘You don’t know that,’ said Freya. She put her hands on his shoulder and bent forward to say in his ears, ‘maybe they do, but it is so scandalous that they can’t say it, so scandalous, even for them, that they don’t realise that they do.’ Then she went to stand in front of the angel and declared proudly, ‘it’s fiction, we’re free to imagine whatever we like.’ 

Aziraphale stared at her, blinking once or twice. Taking his specs off, he started to say ‘yes, well, I’m not…’

But what would have undoubtly been a very eloquent response to Freya’s argument was cut short by the bookshop phone ringing. Grumbling, Aziraphale stood up and went to answer the phone. While he was leaving, Freya mumbled mischievously, ‘I know an idiot or two who love each other without realising or admitting it.’ She caught Aziraphale glancing at her before disappearing and she pinched her lips not to laugh. 

‘Hello ?’ Aziraphale’s voice chanted from the shop. And then, ‘oh, you again. Listen, I… No, it’s… I… will you shut up and let me speak ? _I don’t have it_, and there’s no use calling me every day our Lord makes. Now, for the last time, _stop calling me._ I don’t know what I’ll be capable of if you do.’

Freya heard him hang up the phone angrily. When he came back, she welcomed him with a wide, amused smile. 

‘Well, Mr Fell, I’m shocked.’ 

Aziraphale gave her his best oh-shut-up-will-you look, which only made her laugh harder. Freya’s laugh was bright, loud and communicative. Soon enough, Aziraphale found himself laughing too. 

‘So, what were you saying ?’ he asked finally, going back to his desk. 

'You still don’t have coffee, do you ?’ Freya asked back, deliberately changing the subject. 

‘No, I don’t,’ Aziraphale answered with the tone of someone who doesn’t like the turn the conversation is taking. Freya suspected him to willingly forget to buy her some, in order to control her caffeine consumption – and, indeed, she was right. She sighed, and asked, ‘will you offer me a tea, then ?’ 

‘Of course, my dear.’ 

Aziraphale disappeared upstairs for a while, time during which Freya let herself fall on the sofa, putting her legs up on the backrest, and she started to read Little Women. She loved that book. A few moment later, Aziraphale came back with a tray with a kettle, two cups and a box of buiscuits on it. Freya sat up straight, putting the book away. ‘What do you say to some music ?’ she said while the angel was serving them tea. Without waiting for an answer, she stood up and put one of Aziraphale’s favourite records on. 

They drank tea in silent and quiet contentment, listening to the music, until, at half past twelve, Aziraphale said, ‘he’s late.’ 

'Worried ?’ Freya teased. 

‘No,’ the angel replied, shrugging, ‘his late, that’s all.’ 

Freya took a last sip of tea, saying nothing but thinking a lot. She put her cup away and lied down on the sofa with a loud sigh. A few moment later, the bell of the shop entrance rang. 

‘’tis me, guys !’ a familiar voice called. 

‘We’re in the back, my dear,’ Aziraphale answered. 

Freya didn’t speak or move. She stayed on the sofa, streching herself, eyes fixed on the ceiling. When Crowley came in, she waved at him without looking at him. From the corner of her eyes, though, she saw Aziraphale stand up to greet him. 

‘Hello, angel,’ the demon said. 

'Hello, my dear.’ 

Freya smiled. She rolled on her side, and finally looking at them, she said, more mischievous than ever, ‘we were so worried you wouldn’t come, Crowley.’ 

‘Were you ?’ Crowley answered back with a smirk. 

'Oh, terribly,’ Freya replied, looking at Aziraphale. ‘Weren’t we ?’ 

‘Stop it,’ Aziraphale said, half-upset, half embarrassed. Freya laughed slightly. She stood up. ‘Come on, boys, let’s have lunch,’ she said, passing past them. 

Crowley had parked his Bentley right in front of the shop, and a young police officer was already standing by the car writing on his notebook angrily. Crowley smirked. He glanced at Aziraphale as the angel, walking past him, said : ‘Hello, my dear boy. I’m very sorry about what’s about to happen, but we don’t have time for this I’m afraid.’ He clicked his fingers and the policeman disappeared in a _plop_. * 

‘Good job,’ Crowley commented. ‘Where am I taking you today ?’ he then asked, stepping inside his car. Freya naturally went to sit on the back sit while Aziraphale took his usual place in the front. 

‘I’ve heard of a new little restaurant out of town, I thought we might try it out,’ the angel said while Crowley was starting the car. 

'Out of town ?’ Freya complained. ‘How far out of town ?’ 

‘Not that far,’ Azirapahel said, apologetic and hoping it would be convincing enough. 

‘Don’t worry, pet,’ Crowley said glancing at Freya in the rear-view mirror, ‘nothing’s too far for me, it won’t take long.’ And saying so, Crowley pressed hard on the accelerator and the Bentley ran at high speed, squeezing itself between cars and avoiding traffic. Freya let out an excited cry, Crowley laughed quite maniacally, and Aziraphale closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. 

It took them no more than half an hour to reach the restaurant. It was settled in a lovely old cottage not far from a small village, somewhere in between London and Cambridge. When the three of them entered the building, they were welcomed by a man with an enormours moustache hiding half of his face, which gave the very odd impression that when he was talking, the sound actually came directly from the moustache itself. 

'Welcome, lady and gentlemen,’ he said warmly. ‘Did you have a reservation ? Because if not, I’m afraid we’re quite busy today and…’ 

‘Oh, we booked,’ said Aziraphale, smiling. He glanced at the monstruous moustache with some defiance, as if he suspected it to be a living thing of its own will, ready to attack him at any moment. ‘We definitely did,’ he added, looking the man in his eyes this time. 

The man looked at him blankly, blinked twice, then said, ‘of course, if you would follow me.’ 

The man settled them at a round table outside in what once was the garden of the cottage and were now the restaurant terrace, and he brought them the menu. 

It was a Monday, it was a nice summer day, and it was Freya’s day-off. She had left her old routine behind her, replacing it by another lovely little traditional routine : a lunch with Aziraphale and Crowley. Months had past since the Incident. None of them had heard from Gabriel, Hastur, or annyone else from Heaven or Hell anymore. All this story was now classified as cold case and old memory. Freya’s life had been sweet and quiet ever since, always going on the same daily round : working, reading, snacking, drinking coffee, lunching with Aziraphale and Crowley and occasionally partying with them, drinking more coffee and reading again. That’s what a happy, quiet life should look like, in Freya’s terms. 

Aziraphale and Freya approved of the restaurant after just one bite of their meals, and they convinced Crowley to come back here next time to try something else. He watched them savour their desert with an absent-minded smile and when they were done, he ordered three coffee – one for him, two for Freya. Aziraphale didn’t comment but looked away disapprovingly. 

A while later, while they were going back to the Bentley, Aziraphale said with a sigh of ease, ‘well, that was divine.’ 

'A hell of a find you made with that restaurant, angel,’ Crowley teased. 

‘You’re perfectly right, my dear,’ Aziraphale replied mischeviously, ‘I’m devilishly good at finding the best places to have a good meal.’ 

Crowley laughed, and for a brief moment they stared at each other, each from one edge of the car, sneering. Freya rolled up her eyes, though she was smiling too. ‘Come on, get in the car,’ she said ‘and stop staring hungrily at each other. Haven’t you eaten enough ?’ 

‘We’re not staring hungrily at each other,’ Crowley mumbled, getting quickly inside the car. ‘Get in,’ he said to Aziraphale, a bit sharply. In the back, Freya snorted. 

When they reached London again, Crowley went first to Freya’s home. She got out of the car and said, ‘thanks for the lift. Now, you two be good,’ she said with a wink. Crowley hissed. ‘Oh, she exclaimed before leaving, ‘I almost forgot, you remember it’s my birthday next Sunday, right ? Of course I’m going to have tea with my aunt, but after that…’ 

Aziraphale cut her short : 

‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid we can’t on Sunday.’ 

'What ?’ Freya exclaimed. ‘How ? It’s… I told you about it, weeks ago, I… What could you two possibly be doing on Sunday more important than my birthday ?’ She felt utterly outraged they had forgotten something like this – and it wasn’t like she hadn’t told them about it. Her birthday had always been a sad day, almost always forgotten except by her, her aunt being the only person to celebrate it with her. They couldn’t do that to her, not them, not after all they’ve shared. ‘Hello ?’ she called angrily as none of them talked. 

Aziraphale was fidgetting awkwardly on his sit. He glanced at Crowley who simply muttered, ‘you take care of this,’ and looked away. Aziraphale cleared his throat. ‘I’m so sorry, Freya,’ he said, ‘we… It’s… Oh don’t look at me like that.’ 

‘How do you want me to look at you ?’ she exclaimed. ‘My birthday ! It’s once a year, just – just – just one day, one bloody day a year to remember, and you – you – argh !’ 

She shut the door hard and ran away. Aziraphale swallowed. Feeling Crowley’s insistant gaze on him, he said defensively, ‘What ? What was I suppose to say ?’ 

Crowley didn’t answered. He just stared at him, his yellow eyes looking at the angel insistently above the black lens of his sunglasses. He started the car. 

#

Freya parked her car right in front of the cottage’s portal despite the parking prohibition sign – it was her auntie’s cottage, after all, and she would probably inherit it one day, so she could do as she pleased.

She got out and went to open the boot to unload all the shoping she had done for Philomena. It took her three trips to take everything in the house. 

‘Are you getting ready for a siege ?’ Philomena barked. ‘Or are you planning to stop visiting me for a decade ?’

‘Yes, hi,’ Freya answered sharply, ‘no problem for the errands, my pleasure, and oh, thank you so much for remembering my birthday !’

Her angry tone surprised Philomena, who found herself speechless for a while. It didn’t take her long to talk again, though, she wasn’t the kind to get appalled for too long. 

‘What’s wrong with you now ?’ she exclaimed. ‘You never talked to me like that before !’

‘Well, there’s a first time for everything.’

‘If you came here to be moody and unpleasant, you can go back to London straight away !’ And that said, Philomena went out off the kitchen, grumbling. Freya sighed. She stood up and followed the old woman. 

‘I’m sorry, auntie,’ she said. ‘I’m tired, that’s all.’ Philomena groaned. She was sitting in her armchair, her back to her niece. ‘Come on, I apologise !’ Freya said pleadingly. 

‘Hmmmm. Fine, but that’s really because it’s your birthday.’ Freya heard her mumbling something about kicking her out of the house otherwise, but she pretended she didn’t noticed. She went to kneel in front of her and took the old woman’s hands in hers. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated softly.

Philomena looked down at her. ‘Your present is on the sideboard.’

‘Thank you, you didn’t have to,’ Freya said, getting up. She went to the sideboard and took the wrapped box that was on it. While she was unwrapping it, Philomena asked, ‘where are those two weirdos of yours, anyway ? Thought you’d have brought them with you.’

‘They couldn’t come,’ Freya explained, trying to sound neutral and detached, though she was still furious about it. She’d rather not talk about them at all, and her present was the best of distraction. ‘Auntie, that’s fabulous !’ she exclaimed. It was an old illustrated edition of Hans Christian Andersen’s tales. Freya was looking at the book with sparkles in her eyes. It was one of Philomena’s old treasures and she had coveted it since she was not much more than a toddler. ‘Thank you, auntie, thank you !’ She ran to kiss her aunt on both cheeks. 

‘Argh, stop it,’ Philomena grumbled. She was smiling, though. 

Freya went back to the kitchen to put everything away, Philomena on her heels. When it was done, Philomena made her sit down at the table and took an apple-pie out of the oven. They drank tea with the pie, and browse through the Andersen’s book. 

When the sun started going down, Freya took her leave. She felt a bit more relaxed than before, which was more than unusual after a visit to her dear, grumpy, old aunt.

#

‘HELLOOO !’ Freya greeted Armageddon and Neville. She closed her door, took her shoes off, and came in. She switched the light on.

‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY !’

Freya shrieked, putting her hand on her chest. Her jaw dropped. ‘You… What the hell are you doing here ?’ she exclaimed. In front of her, sitting on her sofa, were Crowley and Aziraphale. They both stood up. Freya stared at them, amazed and shocked. ‘You… But you told me… You were supposed to…’ 

‘Surpriiiiiise !’ Aziraphale chanted, waving his hands. Freya stared at him blankly. She said, ‘A surprised party… I’ve been mad at you for almost a week, and you were planning a surprised party ?’ 

‘Yessss,’ Crowley said slowly. ‘ Aren’t you pleased ?’ Then he turned to Aziraphale and stammered, ‘she’s not pleased, I – I – I told you, I told him, it was his idea, I – I – I told him…’ He stopped abbruptly. Freya had started to laugh, and her laugh was growing louder and louder. After a while, she managed to say, ‘Oh my – Oh my goodness – look at you, you idiots !’ for a brief while she was laughing too hard to talk, then she said again, ‘I can’t believe it, I was so mad at you, so mad, and you… Oh dear, I love you !’ 

She ran to them and fell on their neck, hugging them both tight. Aziraphale pulled her closer. The first shock passed, Crowley wrapped an arm around her, too. When she pulled away, Freya wiped away a few tears. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘And there’s a cake !’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, please, tell me you both baked it ?’ She laughed. Aziraphale’s eyes were sparkling with joy. 

‘Actually, we did,’ Crowley said playfully, ‘although, rumour has it I’m a demon and demons are well-known liars.’Freya laughed again. ‘So, what do you want to drink ?’ Crowley resumed. ‘We brought many things, er – wine, champagne, scotch – you have beers in your fridge of course…’

‘I think I’ll have some champagne,’ she said. ‘Should do with the cake.’

‘Champaign it is, then !’ Crowley exclaimed, taking one of the bottles. He uncorked the bottle, the stopper jumped in a _plop_, and champagne gushed out. They cheered. 

Several bottles later and the cake long gone, while they were much more than tipsy, Freya collapsed on the sofa, taking them both down with her. She declared, talking too loud and too slowly, ‘I know I already said it, but I’ll say it again – and that’s because I’m drunk or I would have been too embarrassed otherwise – so, what I want to say, well, I love you guys, like, so much – I love you, this birthday party, you have no idea what it means to me, so thank you.’

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Aziraphale mumbled, his cheeks reddening. 

‘Like, really,’ Freya resumed, ‘before knowing you, my only relationships were purely professional, except from my aunt and my cactus and my goldfish – although don’t have me wrong, Neville and Armarg – Armageddon, they still are my actual best friends.’ She stretched herself and arranged her position, lying down on the two of them. ‘Although, you’re not really my friends, you’re – you’re family. And I mean it, you’re family to me.’ 

‘Sweetheart,’ Aziraphale repeated, putting his hand unsteadily on the top of her head. Crowley, who had taken his glasses off long ago, was staring at them dreamily with a smile on his lips. He teased, ‘family, like, your two weird uncles your ashamed of at family gathering ? No, wait, this fits Aziraphale only,’ Aziraphale clicked his tongue. ‘I’m the cool cousin you have a good time with,’ Crowley concluded. 

‘Actually,’ Freya said, rather seriously and slightly awkward, ‘I was thinking more… I was thinking more like – dads. You’re my foster dads.’ Silence fell. She cleared her throat and sat straight, grabbing a bottle at random and drinking directly from the neck. Aziraphale and Crowley glanced at each other. 

‘When was the last time you heard from your parents, my dear ?’ asked Aziraphale. 

Freya shrugged. ‘Dunno. As far as I know they’re still in Tibet, but they could be anywhere else, it wouldn’t change a thing. Don’t remember the last time they wished me a happy birthday.’ ** 

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other again. They sat straight, one at each side of Freya. Aziraphale took her hand in his. Crowley cleared his throat. ‘You know,’ he said softly, ‘I know what it feels like, pet. Feeling unwanted – unworthy – alone. It sucks, and it hurts. But it doesn’t – it doesn’t have to be like that forever.’ 

Freya looked up and turned her face to Crowley. She looked straight into his eyes, and his eyes was soft and sad. Behind her, Aziraphale’s was a mirror of Crowley’s sadness. He swallowed and declared, ‘we’re here now, sweetheart.’ Freya looked at him. She smiled. 

She got up, and exclaimed, ‘don’t let me be a joy killer, let’s play a game !’ She turned, a bit too quickly and she felt dizzy for a brief moment, but she then saw her friends’ smiles were back, and she smiled too.

‘What game ?’ Aziraphale asked. 

‘Truth or Dare,’ Freya shouted gleefully, with a wicked smile and pointing a finger at both their face. She burst into a laughter. Aziraphale’s lips tilted in a crooked smile. ‘Could be fun,’ he commented. Crowley glanced at him and smirked. 

‘Oh, it _will_ be fun,’ Freya promised. She sat on the floor, letting the coffee table between her and the sofa, where Aziraphale and Crowley staid seated. She served everyone a glass of scotch, and they started playing. 

After a few turns and a few more drinks, they were laughing so hard that they were almost crying. Although, everyone, even less drunk than they were, would laugh at Aziraphale dancing the gavotte on _Killer Queen_. 

‘Now, Crowley, truth or dare ?’ Freya asked, wiping away some tears. Aziraphale went back to sit, his cheek reddish.***

‘Truth.’

Freya looked at him, thinking carefully. The alcohol didn’t help her think perfectly straight, to be fair, but she suddenly got an idea – a brilliant one, she thought. She smirked. She took a sip of scotch, and asked, ‘have you ever been in love ?’ 

‘Wh – what ?’ Crowley laughed. ‘Come on, what kind of question is that ?’

‘It’s quite simple,’ Freya answered. Crowley looked at her in disbelief, and looked at Aziraphale, then at Freya again. ‘Well, I – I – I don’t know what to say, I – ’

‘Come on !’ Freya exclaimed. ‘you’ve been here for 6000 years, don’t tell me you didn’t even have a little crush once ?’

‘I – I – I… Have you ?’ Crowley spluttered.

‘It’s not my turn.’ Crowley snorted, utterly bewildered. He looked at Aziraphale but the angel was quite deliberately looking in the opposite direction. ‘We’re waiting, Crowley.’ Freya said, ‘We won’t keep playing until you’ve answered.’ Crowley looked at Aziraphale again, but the angel simply shrugged. 

‘Fine,’ Crowley groaned. ‘Well, I – I might have.’ 

‘You might ? You’re not sure ?’ 

‘I answered your bloody question, my turn’s over,’ Crowley lashed out, moody. ‘Aziraphale, truth or dare ?’ 

Freya was very pleased with herself, especially when it was Crowley’s turn again and he asked for a dare, glaring at her. She waiting a few more turns, and as she had expected, Crowley only asked for dares. When it came to him again, she said, mischievous, ‘kiss Aziraphale.’ 

The air pressure suddenly felt heavy. Aziraphale looked like a suffocating carp, and Crowley’s eyes were wide and, well, something close to scared. ‘_What_ ?’ he exclaimed, voice high. 

‘Kiss Aziraphale,’ Freya repeated. She finished her scotch and poured herself some more. In front of her, the demon and the angel were as still as stones. 

‘Nope. Not doing it,’ Crowley finally said, definitive. 

‘You don’t have a choice, Crowley,’ Freya replied, ‘it’s the game.’ 

‘I’m not doing it !’

‘Don’t tell me you’re scared of a small kiss ?’ she mocked. 

‘What ? No, I’m not – of course not, I’m not scared ! What are you playing at ? Are we in kindergarten or something ?’ Freya didn’t answer. She just stared at him, perfectly quiet and with an amused smile, to the point he started to fidget awkwardly. ‘You…’ he grumbled. Freya raised an eyebrow.

‘Chicken,’ she said before taking a sip of her drink. She saw Crowley’s eyes flashing lightnings. 

‘I’m not scared,’ he cursed, ‘it’s just a kiss, I can do it, don’t call me a chicken, _I am not scared_ !’ Freya shrugged. Crowley groaned, angry. 

The moment later, he swooped on Aziraphale, took his face in his hands, and kissed him straight on the lips. Aziraphale instantly turned crimson. 

‘Well, that was… That was a thing,’ Freya said when the kiss ended. ‘I never specified you had to kiss him on the mouth, though.’ 

‘What ?’ Crowley turned blank. Aziraphale turned even more crimson, if that was possible. 

‘Well,’ Freya said slowly, ‘I think you two have things to discuss, don’t you think ?’ They both stared at her, still and silent. Crowley tried to speak, but only incoherent sounds came out of his mouth, so he stopped. Aziraphale glanced at him and, as if suddenly remembering he needed to breath, let out a huge sigh, turning his head in the opposite direction. Freya resumed, ‘come on, don’t make me play Cupid any longer.’ 

‘Cupid ?’ Crowley uttered in a very small, strangled voice. He looked like he was on the verge of crying, or runing away. Aziraphale sighed again. 

‘She’s right, isn't she?' he declared in such a small voice that you could doubt he had spoken at all. Then he looked at Crowley and added, shyly, ‘tell me she is, please...’ 

Crowley slowly turned his face to Aziraphale. His mouth opened and closed a few times without any sound coming out of it. Freya would have sworn he was trying hard not to cry. Eventually, he nodded, very slowly. Aziraphale melted, letting a small chuckle out, or maybe was it a sob, surely a bit of both, and getting closer to take Crowley in his arms, he whispered, ‘Oh, come here, my dear.’ 

Freya smiled. She was certain Crowley was crying now, and so was Aziraphale. But she knew those tears were the sweetest, purest, most innocent ones. Crowley’s arms reached out to hold Aziraphale tight and he burried his face against the angel’s chest, somehow snake-like, but in a cute, snuggly way. Freya heard Aziraphale confess in a breath, ‘I’m so sorry. You know when you said you’ve felt unwanted, unworthy ? It hurt me so much. You wouldn’t have had to felt that way if I hadn’t been… If I hadn’t been so stupid, and prudish, and…’ 

Freya stood up. She walked to her bedroom’s door, but before she could get in, she heard Aziraphale calling, ‘Freya, where do you think you’re going ?’ 

‘Er – I thought I’d leave you some privacy ?’

‘Nonsense. Come here.’ 

They both leaved each other’s arms and made room for Freya to sit in between the two of them on the sofa. She saw Crowley wiping away his tears quickly, quite self-consciously. Aziraphale took a tissue out of his pocket, wiped his tears, and gave it to Crowley. ‘Won’t you come,’ Crowley asked.

Freya bit her lips, smiling. ‘Alright,’ she said. She sat on the sofa, the angel on one side and the demon on the other. Aziraphale put a hand through her hair. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. Then he let his hand fall on Crowley’s shoulder. They all settled themselves comfortably. Freya in the middle, head on Crowley’s shoulder and legs on Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale’s arm cupped Crowley’s shoulders, and his other hand were in Crowley’s, encircling Freya. 

‘Oh,’ Crowley mumbled, ‘I’m so happy I’m drunk…’

‘Why ?’ Freya asked, snuggling against him. 

‘It saves me the embarrassment… well…’ He glanced anxiously at Aziraphale. The angel agreed. Freya laughed. 

‘I hope you will remember it tomorrow, though,’ she said. 

‘Well…, we can’t really forget,’ Aziraphale explained. ‘We’re not… you know.’

‘_You_ might forget, though,’ Crowley added. 

‘Oh, I won’t.’

They stayed in silence for a while, all piled up on the sofa. Freya closed her eyes. She chuckled. ‘Are you officially my dads, now ?’ She opened her eyes and looked up at their faces. They glanced at each other. Aziraphale smiled sweetly. Crowley laughed slightly, something like a happy hissing sound. 

‘Yes, pet,’ he said.

‘We are.’

###

*Arthur Birtwhistle, who was the young officer’s name, regained consciousness two streets away, wondering how he had arrived there and with a vague memory of a vintage car and a funny blond man talking to him with a smooth voice, though he couldn’t make any sense of it all and soon decided it was definitely just an odd dream, and that it would be better not to mention it to anyone in the future – not even himself.  
**She actually got a birthday card from them 4 months and a half ago. As it has been said before, they send her a card every year – except they never send it at the same date, they were pretty bad at keeping track. They also still are in Tibet, but they left the whole monk business and started a relatively profitable organic fruits and vegetables garden.  
***And though he wouldn’t truly admit it, it was more because of the pleasure he felt to finally show his gavotte skills to Crowley rather than the embarrassment of dancing in front of his friends. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :) <3


End file.
